


Modern Kings of Achievement City

by alexskyline



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Gen, Modern kings au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 07:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12883101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexskyline/pseuds/alexskyline
Summary: Achievement City is ruled by the kings who wear no crowns. These are their stories.





	Modern Kings of Achievement City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ryan Haywood is the golden god turned dark._
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> _A former fashion model who's grown out of being runway worthy, he kept enough connections to switch from one cutthroat industry to another and start dealing drugs to the Achievement City's party scene._
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> _A man of exquisite taste and private nature, he's as charming as he is ruthless; the steel of his blade bringing him what the silver of his tongue doesn’t. Standing behind him is a small but devoted crew of those who agreed to play by his rules._
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> _Those who didn’t earned him his little nickname._

Ryan pulled into an empty spot, making sure to park neatly between the lines, even though the lot was deserted. Giving himself a quick check in the rearview mirror, he grabbed a duffel bag from the passenger seat and climbed out, footsteps echoing through the covered structure as he walked up to the only other car in it.

Parked carelessly in the middle of the lot was a black van with a large folding table set up in front of it, behind which stood three tall, similarly dressed men. Ryan’s eyes narrowed; he’s met one of them before.

As he approached, the man he recognised – young, dark ruffled hair and a neat beard, leather jacket on top of a plaid flannel – rolled on the balls of his feet and brought his hands from behind his back, clasping them in front in a modest gesture and taking a step towards the table.

“Mister Haywood,” the man smiled, his voice soft and timid, “Pleasure to see you again, sir.”

“Where’s Sorola?” Ryan asked coldly, not bothering with a greeting.

The man cocked his head, looking concerned, “I-uh, I believe you know, sir, that don Sorola’s _very_ busy schedule does not allow for him to attend every deal personally–”

“And I believe I made it abundantly clear that making time was a simple matter of _respect._ ” Ryan interrupted as he put the bag down on the filthy concrete and crossed his arms.

The man bit his lip and leaned in a little, as if giving a small bow, “Sir, I am sure that you have don Sorola’s utmost respect, considering he agreed to supply top quality product–” the man gestured at the black bags, not unlike Ryan’s own, lying at his feet, “–at such short notice. And please rest assured that I will conduct this deal with none less efficiency he would.”

Ryan sighed, rolling his eyes and jerking his head at the bags, “Show me.”  

The dealer readily grabbed one of the bags and unzipped it, quickly transferring its contents onto the table The rest followed and soon the steel tabletop was evenly covered with white cellophane-wrapped bricks. Last out was a small electronic scale and the dealer waved his hand over the bricks, “Your choice, sir.”

Ryan pointed at random, and watched as the brick was placed on the glass surface of the scale, its led screen blinking to life to show “694g”

“24 ounces each, exactly,” the dealer stated, folding his hands once again, “plus wrap. Check whichever, or all, _if_ you wish.”

Ryan picked up another brick off the corner closest to him and pensively rotated it in his hand, wrinkling his nose at it, “What’s the point. How can I even be sure it’s _‘top quality’_ if your boss doesn’t seem to want to take any responsibility for it…”   

He glanced at the young man, who seemed to be making an effort not to let out any reaction that could have been perceived as rude; his mouth opening and closing momentarily, hand lifting up and falling back to clasp the other. “Sir, if you have any suspicions regarding the quality of the product,” he finally spoke in a calm, collected voice, “you are more than welcome to try it yourself. And I shall guarantee your satisfaction.”  

Ryan raised an eyebrow at the offer, letting an amused chuckle out through his nose. He mouthed an _alright_ and slipped his free hand into his suit jacket, pulling a black, double-edged knife out of a hidden harness. With quick, precise motions he sliced the wrap open, sliding the blade under the cut and gathering a small mound of white powder onto its tip. He tapped the powder onto the tabletop and carefully, trying not to dull the edge of the blade, formed two even lines out of it.

Taking a moment to admire his handiwork, he set the knife down and looked back up at the dealer, “After you.”

The man raised his eyebrows, clearly having not expected the invitation. “I-uuuh,” he started, but quickly stopped himself with another nervous smile and a quick nod, “Sure.” He patted his pockets for a moment, before turning back to one of the bodyguards accompanying him. _“You got, uh…”_ Ryan heard him ask quietly and saw the man on the left lower his gun and dig into his own pocket, passing something to the dealer. As he turned back, he lifted up a rolled bill with two fingers and walked around the table, standing next to Ryan and muttering _“Alright, here we go,”_ as he leaned down to the lines.

With a lightning fast motion, Ryan grabbed the man’s hair with one hand and scooped the knife off the table with the other, driving it handle-deep under the man’s chin as he pushed his head down onto the blade. Not letting himself miss a single moment, he yanked the knife free and grabbed the twitching body by the chin, wrapping his left arm around its neck and bringing it up in front of himself like a shield.

He heard the bodyguards shout in surprise, their confusion lasting just long enough for him to swing and throw the knife at the man on the right, nailing him in the throat; his body collapsing with gurgling gasps. His buddy was quicker to react, as deafening gunshots rang through the empty parking structure, and Ryan felt sharp pain tear through his right arm.

Covering himself with the dead dealer’s body as best he could, he felt more bullets punch through it and reached for his own gun, ignoring the pain flaring through his injured arm. Firmly grasping the handle, he whipped it out and fired back blindly.

The return shots stopped and he stilled for a second before he dared to peek from behind the dead man’s leather-clad shoulder and saw a motionless body lying on the concrete floor in a quickly growing pool of blood.

Ryan pushed the dead dealer off himself and not so gracefully stumbled backwards, barely managing to catch his balance. His ears rang and his arm trembled, but neither stopped him from lifting the gun once again and sending another bullet through each man’s head. In his line of business, one could never be too sure.

With a deep sigh, he returned to the table and pushed some bricks off the edge, clearing a spot to perch on so he could take a proper look at his wound.

Ryan's heart sank when he saw the damage: the bullet went clear through the back of his upper arm, its relatively neat entry paired with the jagged, loosely hanging and blood-soaked edges of the exit.

 _“Fffuck!”_ his cry was more pained than his arm as he gingerly touched the delicate, torn wool. _He loved that suit!_

 _Pearls before swine_ , a bitter thought passed through his mind, as he pulled a crisp handkerchief out of his breast pocket and awkwardly, one-handedly secured it over the wound with his own belt, _That’s what you get._ Once done with his improvised bandage, he fished his phone out of the ruined jacket’s pocket and dialed a number.

“Michael, I need you for clean up. Bring someone. I'll send you the address.” He muttered once he heard a _“Hello?”_

 _“You got it._ ” A cheerful reply followed, and Ryan smiled to himself, copying his location off the gps app into the messenger and sending it to the same number. _Some people never failed him. Some...just wanted to make their own lives more difficult, it seemed._

His head snapped up as he heard a faint ringtone of another phone. _Speak of the devil?_

He rose from his uncomfortable seat and bent down, carefully pulling the ringing phone out of the dead dealer’s back pocket; his lips stretched in a smirk once he saw the caller’s ID. He straightened himself, free hand instinctively smoothing his jacket, and answered in a silken voice, _“Hello.”_

 _“The fuck_ – _who’s this.”_ A grumpy male voice on the other end demanded.

“ _Ah,_ Gustavo, it’s your most valuable client,” Ryan drawled, “so important you sent your shithead lackey to deal with me _again.”_ His voice had grown cold at the last words.

 _“Wha- what’s wrong with Miles? Is there a problem? Pass him the phone, I’ll set him straight.”_ The voice sounded surprised and annoyed at the same time. 

“You wanna talk to him, you better have an ouija board ready.” Ryan shrugged, lowering himself back onto the table and glancing at the body lying beside it.

 _“Wh-Did you kill him?!”_ The voice exploded, making Ryan wince as the ringing in his ear went painful for a second. 

“Eh, I killed all of them.” He replied casually, stretching his legs out.

 _“You...fucking lunatic. Why.”_ Ryan chuckled at the voice’s exasperation. _As if he was called the Mad King for no reason at all._  

“Because the first time I said I were to be dealt with in person,” he started slowly, “it didn’t seem to register with you. So obviously, I had to find another way of making myself understood. Am I, now?”

 _“God,”_ the voice groaned, _“why do you have to be so difficult. Fucking fine, let me drop everything real quick and fly in so I can deal with you myself–”_

“No need,” Ryan reassured, “You stay where you are, and- _ah_ , I’ll just take the product as a moral– ” he glanced at his torn sleeve again, “– _and_ material compensation.”

 _“LIKE HELL YOU WILL.”_ The voice bellowed and Ryan broke out in a harsh, malicious laughter, pulling the phone away from his ear to shout directly into the receiver.

 _“Fucking sue me!”_ He then launched the phone at the nearby concrete column with a small sing-song _boop!,_ flinching slightly when it bounced back, landing short of him.

The adrenaline crash was starting to take over his body, his limbs and eyelids growing heavy. Ryan forced himself to stand back up, stretching with a long deep sigh, and walked back to his car. Pushing the seat back as far as it went, he let the crown of his head hit against the embroidered leather and finally closed his eyes.

In retrospect, messing like that with the Muertos might not have been the most sound decision he's ever taken; not that he was particularly known for those. Even though he wasn’t entirely certain how much concern Sorola really had for his henchmen’s lives, he didn’t expect him to be happy about Ryan’s offhand appropriation of the pile of cocaine; couple hundred thousands worth of it still sitting dead in the middle of the abandoned lot.

But he had a reputation to uphold, and if his time in the fashion biz taught him anything, it wasn’t done by making concessions. When his warnings were ignored so blatantly, he had to make sure they carried weight...

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first character short for my [Modern Kings AU](http://alexskyline.com/tagged/ah-modern-kings) and a companion piece for [this art.](http://alexskyline.com/post/168091952113/modern-kings-are-back-this-one-took-me-a-while) If you like it, please let me know in the comments, or come hang out with me on [tumblr!](http://alexskyline.com/)


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